


liar, liar

by orphan_account



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, natsume: (is out for literally 1 day) me: i have a perfect understanding of his inner psyche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7883365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His hand is firm on Subaru's chest, pushing down, down from where he has Subaru cornered, pressed down into the floor. Natsume sees anger flicker in Subaru's eyes, watches it claw up through his chest, through the layers of hypocrisy and fakeness and <em>lies</em>.</p>
<p>Ah, yes. He loves this. He loves the shuddering breaths clawing their way out from Subaru's throat; he loves watching Subaru struggle to keep his fury packed down, locked away. He wants to watch Subaru lose himself to rage. He wants to watch Subaru cry.</p>
<p>He wants to watch Subaru <em>beg</em>.</p>
<p>Right now, Natsume has the feeling he'll get to see it all. But if not, they have time.</p>
<p>They have all the time in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	liar, liar

**Author's Note:**

> umm... IM REALLY SORRY!!!!! this fic is so bad.. (puts head in hands) its so bad! its so bad. this is going to be OOC after we hear more about natsume in like three days. bye. b.ye. im orphaning this
> 
>  
> 
> sububububububu

Natsume remembers. When they first met.

A noisy, too-excitable boy, babbling and chattering to nobody in particular. Annoying, he wants to say. It's like he doesn't understand that other people are irritated or frustrated with him. His bright smile. His eyes, bright as the afternoon sky.

It's—it's. It's...

...Through no particular desire of his own, Natsume and Subaru grow to be something like friends; the natural order of things: outcasts stick together. He's weird, even then, although Eichi hasn't broken him, taken his heart and soul and shredded it to pieces for kicks. Subaru lets him draw pentagrams all over his skin, laughs when Natsume attempts to use him as a human sacrifice (if he tried it now, he's sure he would be successful). Subaru is always bright, always shining, and Natsume can't decide if his light is sickeningly artificial or too bright for anyone to handle.

Subaru just.. doesn't seem to get sadness, or discomfort, on a base level. Before Subaru, Natsume pictured people with no empathy as cold, as cruel monsters.

After Subaru?

He has to revise his definion.

Subaru really is a perfect idol. He doesn't get tired, of practice and of smiling that same bright, wide smile. Natsume hates it.

He doesn't. Of course. Subaru doesn't understand boundaries, keeps shoving his face in Natsume's space: Natsume is quieter in the past, has his nose buried in books full of arcane symbols he pretends to understand, understands less when Subaru keeps breaking his concentration. Every time he resolves himself, tells himself that this is when he'll rebuff Subaru for real, he falters when he sees Subaru's smile. He falters when he remembers Subaru helping him with his notes, he falters when he remembers Subaru slowing down to jog with him so he won't be left behind. Oh, he hates this. But Subaru is nothing if not an exercise in contradictions.

A hypocrite. Ha.

Subaru always changes the subject when Natsume tries to pry, tries to find out more about him, tries to figure out what exactly makes Subaru Akehoshi tick. And yet, Natsume somehow ends up telling Subaru everything he wants to know and more. It's not fair that Natsume spends so much time studying dark magic with so little success, yet Subaru has his own. So easily. Surely, nobody can stay that perfect forever.

Natsume remembers the day he gets his chance.

He's on his laptop searching for something when a little voice whispers, whispers to type Subaru's name into the search bar, see what he can find. He does. The blue links, arranged in neat rows, leer at him from the screen. Natsume sees Subaru's father, with the same tousled orange hair and brilliant smile. Natsume sees him sparkle, sees him say the wrong things, sees the TV show host's eyes grow dark, sees the news about him drop from front-page headlines to little columns in the seediest tabloids.

The laptop is slammed shut when the headline 'POSSIBLE SUICIDE?' blink up at him in 10pt font, a tiny, one-paragraph column next to an article detailing the intimate lives of the next new celebrities.

An afterthought.

The fall from grace.

Natsume sleeps fitfully that night, repeating to himself over and over again that he doesn't care, that he's _happy,_ that he'll finally have something to knock Subaru down a peg, maybe. The pit in his stomach is ignored. Is let fester.

He supposes he shouldn't have been surprised when Subaru deflects his barbed words and sneers with a smile and a change of subject without fail. The only thing Natsume can take comfort in is the brief flash of shock and sadness in Subaru's eyes when the topic is first broached. It doesn't matter that he doesn't actually find comfort from it. Natsume needs Subaru to be vulnerable.

The universe punishes Natsume for his arrogance, of course. Whatever god is out there watches idly as the spotlight burns bright in his face: the audience is deathly silent, the blue eyes that stare down at him and the gentle 'Too bad, Sakasaki-kun," so reminiscent of another man—another boy. Natsume almost can't tell the difference between them, the emperor and the pariah.

Maybe Subaru is there, in the audience. Watching.

Natsume wonders what he would've said.

In the months that follow, Natsume stays locked in his room. His interest in the arcane slips from being a fixation to everything he has; although the fact that his mental health is worsening rapidly is apparent, even to himself, he doesn't care. Why should he? He doesn't care about anything. Natsume derives a sick sort of pleasure from searching Subaru's name and finding no articles, no mentions, no nothing. No fame. Haha. Hahahaha. He wants to talk to Subaru again.

He can hear his own voice taking on odd tones and hues in the rare moments he does speak, warping and giving Natsume some distance from the power his words have. Natsume hates his voice, hates talking, and then he doesn't, suddenly. It feels good, talking like this. It feels safe.

Some nights, when he's tossing and turning in bed, the voice that comes out isn't his. Not anymore. Blue eyes, light-blonde hair, and Natsumi is shuddering, clasping his hands over his mouth and desperately trying to keep it all in. The festering in his brain has spread to his voice, permeated every part of himself, which is maybe why he stops caring when he catches tears pricking at his mother's eyes after she hears it for the fifth time. It's part of him, now. Corrupted and deep, it comes from somewhere deep inside him. Words have power, he knows. Natsume could stay like this forever.

And then, it happens.

Trickstar, the article proclaims. A promising new unit; the shooting stars of the entertainment industry. The laptop screen blurs and ebbs in front of him, but he forces his way through the article, snarling refutations at every line in a voice he's not even entirely sure is in his head anymore. At the end of the article: a picture. Four boys, Subaru among them. In the center.

His smile seems to twinkle and sparkle at Natsume from the screen, Subaru's look of joy and happiness lacing through him. Surely Natsume is mistaken; surely his smile isn't brighter and happier than it was before. Natsume stares, transfixed, for what seems like hours. He feels lighter. Normal.

The light is gone, then, and the room is plunged into darkness once more. Natsume stares at the hand on his laptop, wonders why he didn't register closing it. But it doesn't matter, anyways. He's an idiot. An idiot who let himself got caught up, for just a brief moment, in Subaru's lies. He's a liar. He's a liar.

It's only when blue starts to mix with the murky purple sky that Natsume finally drifts into fitful rest.

To Natsume's growing dismay and rage, Trickstar's popularity increases exponentially in the following weeks, and shows no sign of slowing. The articles keep appearing, and Natsume keeps reading, keeps faltering over Subaru's interviews, over Subaru's pictures, over Subaru. Frustration tangles Natsumi's stomach into knots, the kind that makes your nerves fizzle and everything in you drop low in your gut, curling and threatening to drive him over a prescipice he's been toeing this entire time.

The breaking point. A video interview with Subaru, an interview Natsume clicks despite every cell in his body screaming for different things but _not this, not this!_ Oh, he hears it. He hears Subaru's voice, bright and friendly and happy like it always is, sinking into his brain, his heart, twisting everything into a tangled mess and threatening his safety, his isolation. Natsume's voice leaks out, wobbling, pathetically forlorn, and without his permission. The laptop is slammed shut once more, but there is no safety to be found in the darkness now. He stumbles towards his bed, need making his fingers clumsy and his dick ache, sobbing out when he's finally under the cover and finally touching himself. His voice, strained with desperation, shudders out of his throat, but Natsume is too far away to care. Subaru, Subaru, Subaru; Natsume's mind conjures new images of Subaru, eyes half-lidded, face flushed with want. Wanting Natsume.

Natsume wants Subaru, too.

His hand speeds up, stroking a steady rhythm to Subaru, Subaru, Subaru, his name marching through Natsume's head. He's gasping out parts of Subaru's name (but not the whole thing, not the whole thing, it's yours) as the heat coiling in his stomach gets harder and harder to bear: Natsume is drooling all over his pillow now, face pressed into it in desperation, desperation to stop his voice from leaking out. The coil collapses; heat pools at the base of his spine, arching, arching off the bed, and—

" _Subaru_ —"

His voice, his true voice, high with need but still clear, unmarred by shifting tones—

Subaru.

Natsume's underwear is filled with a sticky heat, suddenly: his voice spent, energy draining from his body. In the moments after, something snaps inside him, floods him with calm realization. Something inside him changes.

He's not sure if his voice, ringing out with the syllables of Subaru's name, means something new.

Or his final death throes.

\--

Amber light floods in through the hallway windows.

It's after school, and Natsume has no unit activities, no club meetings. Sora has already headed home. Tsumugi—Tsumugi, who he suspects has been trying to shelter him, trying to keep him away from Subaru—he's busy with something in his class. Natsume is free to do as he wants. His steps have purpose; he knows where Subaru is, knows nobody will come and disturb them.

When he sets foot inside the classroom, he sees Subaru hunched over at a chair, scribbling in a notebook. His orange hair hangs low into his eyes, and if Natsume was any other person, he might even want to brush it out of Subaru's face for him. Subaru looks up, suddenly, having apparently noticed Natsume's presence, and Natsume ignores how his heart leaps in his chest.

"Natsume! What's up?" Subaru says, grinning.

"Mmh, not much," Natsume murmurs, approaching Subaru's desk. He rests his hand on the desk, leans over so that he's standing over Subaru. It's easier, he thinks, if he just lets _that_ voice claw its way up from his throat, lets it strike at all Subaru's weak points.

"I watched your performance." Lets his lips curve into a sneer. "I was surprised. I never expected your unit to be so _weak._ " 

He sees Subaru's eyes widen in shock, sees the beginnings of anger flickering in his eyes; fear and joy curl in Natsume's stomach, sending nervous energy sparking through his nerves. Natsume inches closer, forcing Subaru out of his seat, backing him against the classroom wall. His face is barely a few inches away from Subaru's. He can feel Subaru's warmth.

"What are you..." Subaru starts, and Natsume feels a thrill of pleasure arc through his spine at the way Subaru's voice wavers and trails off.

"All of Trickstar's members are _pathetic_. That glasses boy is a liar like you, Isara-kun is _nothing_ , and Hida—"

"Don't." Subaru's voice is low. A warning. Oh, Natsume loves this. He leans forward, forces Subaru lower down the wall, searches his eyes and finds anger, dark clouds in shining blue skies. Natsume takes a breath, prepares to say something else, but the murky knot in his throat is gone, replaced with a twinge of regret and intrigue. It feels like hours pass with them staring into each other's eyes, Subaru's gaze at once searching and challenging. The moment in time is almost shattered when he hears an intake of breath—Subaru's, Subaru's—and Natsume... he has to... to...

Natsume lunges forward, presses their lips together; his approach is too strong, their noses bump, but his hands grip Subaru's waist and pull him close, closer, because he needs this, has always wanted this. Lips stiff, Subaru's hands rise to fist in Natsume's uniform. For one terrifying moment, Natsume thinks Subaru is going to push him away, but.

The hands hesitate, relax, pull him closer; Natsume licks into Subaru's mouth, and Subaru's lips part in implicit permission. It's hot—as in temperature, although the other thing too, yeah—, and Natsume traces the inside of Subaru's mouth with his tongue. When their tongues slide together, Natsume groans into Subaru's mouth, hand coming up to tangle in Subaru's hair, deepen the kiss, some animal instinct inside him guiding his movements. Heat is pooling in the pit of his stomach at the little noises Subaru is making, how they're clutching to each other like lifelines. There's movement, suddenly; Natsume feels Subaru's knees buckle, pulls back and lets him slide down the wall, coming to lie on the floor with only his upper back leaning against the wall. Natsume kneels down in front of him, coming to straddle Subaru, and he watches Subaru's eyes. He sees them, conflictingly hazy with desire and sharp with anticipation.

There's a beat of silence. Tension. An impasse.

Natsume grinds his hips down against Subaru's, electricity running down his spine at Subaru's resulting gasp. When he looks up at Subaru again, he finds Subaru with his head tipped back against the wall, shuddering breaths escaping from his lips. His neck is exposed, bared to Natsume. He wants to litter it with red marks. There's a sudden surge of possessiveness rising in Natsume's chest; Natsume concentrates on the steady push of his hips, presses his lips to Subaru's throat, feels the bob of his Adam's apple. Rolling his hips down, Natsume finds a spot on Subaru's neck where his pulse jumps under his skin, setting his lips on it and sucking _hard_. Subaru lets out a low whine that Natsume can _feel_ , deep in the pit of his stomach, and he arches up to press more against Natsume. When Natsume draws back, he leaves a satisfying red blotch on Subaru's skin (mine, mine), and before he can think about it, Natsume is sucking another mark on his throat, teeth scraping thin skin dangerously.

His mind is hazy, dizzy with desire and pleasure, which is maybe the reason why he's fumbling with Subaru's belt, why he gets down on his stomach, breath ghosting over the wet spot on Subaru's boxers. Natsume pinpoints the exact moment Subaru realizes what he's going to do, feels him tense: he takes off Subaru's boxers, taking in a little bit of the tip in one smooth motion. He permits himself one glance up at Subaru's face; pleased with what he sees, Natsume takes a little more into his mouth, forcing himself to breathe through his nose, suppresses the reflex to gag or spit it out. A hand tangles through his hair, running through the strands with smooth, comforting motions. Natsume closes his eyes.

He can't get all of it in, not now, but he manages about two-thirds, feeling it press hot and hard against the back of his throat. It's... different than he expected. Natsume bobs his head experimentally.

"Na—Natsume..."  
  
Heat shivers down Natsume's chest. His pants are suddenly way too tight, but he pushes the discomfort to the back of his mind, putting renewed effort into _this_ , focused on drawing out Subaru's voice. He supposes the way Subaru looks right now isn't bad, either: his expression is open, with a pleasing flush on his face and lips just slightly parted. Natsume resists the urge to smile, fits a little more into his mouth. He's sure he must look like a mess right now, with drool dribbling down his face, hair mussed by Subaru's hand, looking up at at Subaru like—

Like—

...He can feel Subaru's hand tighten in his hair, can feel the way Subaru's hips are starting to jerk forward, can hear Subaru's breath grow rough and labored. It takes him a few moments, but then he remembers, through the haze, that he needs to pull back. It's not over yet.

When he does pull back, a thin rope of saliva still connecting them, Natsume sees confusion and indignance flash in Subaru's eyes, finds a vindictive sort of pleasure grow in his chest. He grabs Subaru's wrists, holds them together, and he forces Subaru all the way to the ground.

"Beg."

It's so much easier to scorn Subaru like this, shock and anger warping his always-smiling face. Natsume feels a sneer grow on his face.

"What do you mean?" Subaru asks, with obviously affected confusion.

Natsume smirks. "You know exactly what I mean."

Oh, he likes this face on Subaru. Struggling between defiance and desire. Glaring at him.

"...Please," Subaru mumbles. It's reluctant. Prideful.

Not good enough.

Natsume feigns a thoughtful expression, makes as if he's going to take off Subaru's uniform, loosening his tie with deft movements. Subaru relaxes under his touch, just slightly. A mistake. He grabs Subaru's wrists again, suddenly, and uses the tie to bind them together, enough to hurt. Enough so that he won't be able to wriggle free. Subaru looks so betrayed. Sick pleasure twists in Natsume's gut.

"Have fun," Natsume murmurs, getting to his feet and walking towards the classroom door. He aches, wants to turn back to Subaru, but the thought of Subaru begging for him makes Natsume shiver with delight. He sets one foot outside the classroom, and his hazy delight turns to disappointment. Subaru not responding to his threat was not a possibility he anticipated. Natsume stops in the doorway. Against his better judgement, he glances behind him.

Subaru is sprawled out on the floor, having apparently tried—and failed—to remove himself from his bonds.

"...Please?" Subaru asks, voice quiet. His tone is almost sheepish, but tinged with something like desperation.

Natsume hesitates. Takes a step towards Subaru. His gaze falls to meet Subaru's.

"Touch me. Please." Subaru's voice wobbles, the note of desperation now ringing clearly in his voice. Nobody, nobody else will get to see this side of Subaru. Only Natsume.

Natsume's resolve breaks, and he approaches Subaru again, straddling him. He loves the way Subaru lets out a low, shuddering whine when Natsume's hand comes to wrap around his length. He wants to see Subaru beg, cry, writhe on the floor, but his dick strains painfully at the inside his pants, so he'll leave that for next time. (Next time.)

"Can you untie me?" Subaru asks, flashing Natsume a wobbly grin. Natsume hesitates, possible scenarios flashing through his head, but he hears a 'yes' in the quiet room spoken with a voice that isn't Subaru's, and his mind is made up for him.

Once Subaru's hands are free, he immediately goes for Natsume's belt, managing to get his underwear mostly off before Natsume, panicked, has his wrists in an iron grip.

"It's not fair if it's just me, right?" Subaru says, giving Natsume a coaxing look. Another moment of hesitation.

Natsume nods.

Subaru tugs his underwear all the way down, allowing Natsume no time to prepare himself. The cool air is shocking, as is the amount of pre-cum dribbling down the tip. When Subaru's hand wraps around both of their dicks, Natsume almost sobs in relief, the warmth in his stomach concentrating into white-hot heat. He notices Subaru struggling, trying to push himself up into a sitting position with his free hand.

Something. Something in Natsume breaks, melts into bizarre, soft affection, makes him wrap his arms around Subaru and pull him up, his head coming to rest on Natsume's shoulder. Subaru's hand stills from where it has been pumping erratically, but starts moving again after a moment. It's different, though; each stroke lingering and deliberate. Natsume likes it.

Soft hair tickles at Natsume's throat when Subaru raises his head and falters, face barely an inch away from Natsume's. Lips press, gentle, against Natsume's own. Different than their last. Slow and soft, like an apology. The heat pooled at the base of Natsume's stomach has somehow changed from desperate and raw to rich and aching without him noticing it. He kisses back, tilts his head slightly for a better angle. Gentle. Unhurried.

Something has gone wrong inside Natsume. Magic, maybe; Subaru's magic. But there are no words spoken between them, just looks and touches and soft noises.

When their mouths separate, something lingers between them, hangs in the air with their mingling breath. Natsume can tell he's at his limit, now. His hand goes to cover his mouth, stop his voice from leaking out as he arches into Subaru's hand. Another hand comes to cover the one on his mouth, gently pulls it away. Natsume's eyes flicker open, watch Subaru almost unconsciously lace their fingers together.

"Don't," Subaru murmurs, voice hoarse and deep, lodging itself in Natsume's brain. "Don't cover your mouth."

Natsume opens his mouth to reply, but all that comes out is a low whine, and it's his turn to bury his head in Subaru's shoulder.

Subaru's hand strokes erratically, speeding up, and Natsume knows that Subaru is close too, muffles his whines in Subaru's uniform.

"Baru-kun," Natsume groans, for no reason other than to say it.

"Subaru." Natsume holds Subaru tighter, closer. "Call me Subaru."

"Subaru," Natsume sobs, and that's it—the coil snaps inside him, and he _wails_ out into the empty classroom, losing himself in a burst of heat and relief. It's the same, the same voice as that night. Subaru's hand squeezes his own as his other hand pumps with a helpless rhythm, and then Natsume can feel Subaru pulse against him, registers warm liquid dripping down between his thighs.

They sag against each other, toppling to the floor but still holding onto each other. Subaru's arms wrap around Natsume (wiping the sticky mess against the back of his uniform...), pulling them closer. They rest like that, and for a time, the only sound in the silent classroom is their ragged breathing. It's a while before Natsume tries to pull away, but Subaru holds fast, nuzzling his face into Natsume's shoulder. It surprises him, that, but what surprises him more is that Natsume doesn't mind staying like this. He supposes it's fine.

This warrants further research, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> > kys 
> 
> i was going to have Natsume have no explicit spoken lines in quotes in this fic for like. style? but this fic is nasty anyways so im not. 
> 
> bye,
> 
> (ps. IDK AS I WROTE THIS MORE TRANSLATIONS CAME OUT SO IT BECAMSE SAPPIER IDK WHY!!!! ummmmmjjjfdfjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj)


End file.
